I Meet the Hard Times Bike Club

and live to tell the tale. By Megulon-5.

Finally, after two years of riding the streets of Seattle alone, I
met the HTBC when they rolled into town
with Cirkus Redickuless. I had seen pictures of their rides, and it
looked like they possessed some highly advanced technology. I didn't
think that they'd be too impressed with the Organ Donor, but I looked
forward to
riding with someone who was at eye level. When I
arrived at the bar where they were supposed to be, however, they
hadn't arrived yet. I got tired of riding around and looking for
them, so I parked out front and went inside to wait them out. They
strolled in a few beers later and demanded to know who's tall bike
that was outside, and greeted me very cordially when they found out
that it was mine.

Needless to say, their bikes are of a very sophisticated design. They
don't flip the frame, but instead weld an entire front triangle on top
of the base frame. This raises the pedals a little higher than on the
Chunk tall bikes. Probably because of this, they don't use the
stomp-on-the-pedal-and-hoist method of mounting, instead climbing up
the scaffolding like monkeys. Some of their bikes have a little peg
for the first step, like those used to get up on highwheelers -
indeed, it is placed
exactly where the pegs were put on safeties when people hadn't yet
discovered that they didn't have to leap onto them from the rear, as
for a highwheeler. I still think of the hoist method as
being more graceful, and it is also given elegance by the fact that
it is the exact same maneuver executed when mounting a short bike on
the fly. Their clambering was beautiful to watch, though, as it was
both fluid and lightning fast. Skitch in particular was a fucking
ballerina. He'd bunny-hop something and then immediately stand on the
top of the rear wheel and skid until he had almost stalled, then pop a
wheelie and keep it just low enough to stop himself from flipping
backwards.

The double-frame design allows the use of a long steer tube with
nuts and races for the head tubes of both frames. Very sturdy, and
the handlebars don't flex all over the place. This also means that
they can use a
normal stem, without the sketchy weld needed to keep the
wedge-tightening bolt in its normal position with a tall neck. It
does, however, cause
problems during quick dismounts, as the space between the seat
tube and head tube is not only occupied, but occupied by a sort of
steel hammock of pipes. While the sloping front seat tube supports of
the Donor and Tallboy have caught a few feet attached to people who
were trying hard to keep them below their asses, they do at least end low
enough that a pilot who has to pitch forward (as in a failed slow
stall maneuver) is usually able to slide
down and get a foot on the ground before any fleshy crotches meet
metal ones. One might have a brown stain in one's drawers, but one's
most sensitive parts won't be hammered. Ah well, every technological
advance comes with a price, and their bikes are exquisite rides overall.

We disobey the laws of physics. Our bikes are impossible to ride
anyway but riding on the Minneapolis ice, we're
working miracles. It's a religious activity. We make sacrifices. We
sacrifice people,
not bikes - the bikes are sacred. Well, we'll light bikes on fire
sometimes. A little gore, a little blood, that's just like heroin to
the Bike Gods, they want to see a little blood, so we give it
to them.
-Fat Chick Rick.

This extra handlebar support is necessary, however, for jousting.
After juggling a lance for half a block on the Donor, I knew that I
wouldn't have a chance. As soon as I took a blow to the chest, I'd
have to hold on hard to the handlebars to avoid going over the back.
I knew what would happen then - the bars would twist about a foot,
then spring back while I was trying to steer with one hand. The
Donor's current small front wheel tightens up the head tube angle, and
reduces her trail, so she usually needs to be told exactly where to
go. She won't just lean in whatever direction is proper to keep one
in the saddle, like on a chopper. In fact, simply riding one-handed
can be a challenge - one has to oversteer an instant early, then
wait for the twist to be transmitted to the front wheel, and then snap
the bars back a little to counter the stored momentum that wants to
turn the wheel too far. In
addition, the long stem is bent a little to the side, so that turning
left and turning right require different forces and leans. I knew
that the outcome of a few
jousting runs would be my body impaled on that stem. I
couldn't make this excuse to the HTBC, though - they'd have laughed at
me before driving me away. A few of them sneered at my helmet, even after
I showed them the crack that was made when it saved my life. Shit,
they even took off their shirts before jousting. I wasn't about to
become a sacrifice to their Bike Gods, though, and luckily they didn't
need me, because there were plenty of suckers milling around after the
Cirkus. After holding the bike steady while these braves climbed aboard
and giving them a few practice runs up and down the block, the HTBCers
would press a lance into their hands and set them at each other. It
helped that none of these people yet knew how to dismount, and that
lessons weren't given until an opponent had been unseated.